I get up to check the corridor in both directions, make sure everything is okay. But it’s all as empty and silent as ever.
Lourdes looks up from scrolling. “What’s wrong?” She sounds drowsy.
I shrug, forcing the careless movement. “Nothing. Thought I heard them up and moving.”
She snorts. “You know Voller won’t be rolling in here until ten seconds before.”
She’s not wrong.
I return to my chair and resume watching the footage. But I’m only half paying attention, a tiny and yet inexplicable knot of tension growing between my shoulders.
The second time, thatclunk-clickis louder. Or closer.
I stand again. “You didn’t hear that?” I ask Lourdes.
She swivels her chair to face me. “Hear what?”
Fuck.Fuck.
Okay, deep breath.
I sit back down. “Never mind. I think the chair squeaks when I move.”
She doesn’t seem fully convinced, but she nods. “Kane probably has something in one of the tool kits we brought over that would fix that. I can check if you—”
“No, no, it’s fine.”
Lourdes watches me for another second, uncertain, and then goes back to her work.
Clunk-click.
This time, I keep my head down, staring sightlessly at the tablet. Lourdes says nothing. She really doesn’t hear anything.
Clunk-click. Clunk-click. Clunk-click.
It’s getting faster now and more frequent. One right after the other. Like it’s dinnertime and all the guests are emerging from their suites to visit La Fantaisie or the creepy theater on the level below for a show.
Sweat pools under my arms and I have to tighten my grip on the tablet to keep it from slipping away from my now-slick hands.
A recurrence of my post-traumatic symptoms due to stress. That’s what the doctors would say. Just hallucinations.
Cattie and Opal move soundlessly on-screen, laughing or shouting at each other, I can’t really tell. I can’t seem to focus anymore, my breath lodged in my throat like a stone.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, the doors fall silent.
But in the quiet, I hear something new. The softshush-shushof footsteps on the carpeting. Getting closer.
I squeeze my hands tighter on the tablet, until the edges dig into my palms.
A hand lands heavy on my shoulder, and a muted scream burbles out of me, a pathetic, shrill sound, as I throw myself forward and turn to see who—or what—is behind me.
“Hey! Whoa.” Eyes wide, Kane holds his hands up in apology. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me coming.”
“It’s okay,” I say, panting. I bend in half, trying to catch my breath and hide the humiliation currently burning up my face and neck. “You just startled me.”Lie.
“Voller was snoring so I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d come back a little early.” He steps closer. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Fine,” I say automatically.Another lie.
